Whatever You Need To
by sinnerforhire
Summary: Teenage Dean hides an illness from John until it turns serious--emergency room serious. Comment fic for a hut/comfort meme.


"But Dad--"

"I don't want to hear it, Dean. We're going and that's final."

Dean drops into one of the kitchen chairs and sulks. The school they'll be attending for the foreseeable future has demanded that both he and Sam get a physical examination from a doctor or pediatrician before they can be registered. And that means he's going to get caught.

He's not stupid--he knows that the near-constant stomachaches he's been having for the past month are probably nothing good. He's lost so much weight that he had to put a new hole in his belt to keep his jeans up. At first, eating bland stuff like toast and oatmeal made the pain go away, but for the last week he hasn't been able to keep anything down. He knows Sam's getting suspicious; he's not stupid either, and only the very real threat of a beatdown has kept him from telling John.

But now, Dean's screwed.

John herds them into the car and drives them to the free clinic. John signs them in at the desk and tells Sam he's going first.

"But I don't wanna go first!" whines Sam.

"Tough." John fixes Sam with a glare that could melt steel. Sam swallows and sits down in one of the threadbare chairs along the back wall of the waiting room.

The nurse comes to retrieve them about half an hour later. Dean's stomach hurts so bad he just wants to curl up in a ball and scream, but he forces himself to act like nothing's wrong. The nurse measures their height and puts them each on the scale, and Dean notices her deep frown when she writes down his reading. When she catches him looking, she smiles and says something cheery and stupid that Dean ignores.

She herds them into an exam room with two beds separated by a curtain, then hands them each an ugly green gown and tells them to take off everything but their underwear. She pulls the curtain around Dean's bed so he can't see John, Sam, or the door and he's grateful for the chance to let his guard down. He takes off his shirt and pulls the gown on, but when he attempts to climb off the bed to finish undressing he gets so nauseated that it takes every bit of willpower he has not to puke. He gingerly lies back on the bed and curls up on his side, feeling miserable and sick and nowhere near up to pulling this off.

He doesn't listen to what the doctor says to his brother, just lets the cadence of her voice lull him into a daze. When she pulls the curtain back, he tries to sit up and look healthy but a spike of pain makes him bite into his lip to hold back a groan.

She's instantly on his case. "Lie straight and tell me where the pain is the worst."

He lightly rests his fingertips on top of his stomach, a couple inches above his navel. "Here."

"Is the pain constant or does it come and go?"

"Comes and goes," Dean gasps as she presses lightly on his belly.

"Is it worse in the morning and at night when there's nothing in your stomach?"

"Yeah," he chokes out.

"Have you been vomiting?" He nods. "Does it look black and gritty like coffee grounds?"

"Sometimes."

She exhales sharply and turns to John. "Your son needs to be transferred to the hospital."

"Why?" John barks.

"Because he likely has a bleeding ulcer that could lead to an obstruction of the digestive tract," she replies. "Immediate treatment can prevent further complications."

"Do whatever you need to," says John, his voice rough.

The doctor leaves and soon the nurse returns with a syringe full of something that makes the pain back off and the world go fuzzy and soft around the edges. He drifts in and out of awareness, occasionally tuning in to John and Sam's soft assurances and words of encouragement. There's a flurry of movement and noise, the sharp pain of a needle, and then the gentle slide into darkness.

When he wakes up later, his throat is dry and raw and his eyes are so bleary he barely recognizes the dark shape in the corner as his dad. He croaks out a greeting that sounds like it comes from the deepest recesses of the abyss. John moves his chair closer. "Hey, bud. I can give you a little water but you have to spit it out, you can't swallow it." Dean nods and accepts the plastic straw John raises to his lips. He lets the water trickle back to his abused throat and spits it out into a basin as he was instructed.

His eyesight's a little clearer now and he can make out Sam huddling in the corner looking terrified. He puts on his best approximation of a smile. "Hey, Sammy."

"Hey, Dean." His voice is soft and lifeless.

"How are you feeling?" asks John.

Dean thinks about it. "Better. It doesn't hurt so much. But I'm a little..." He can't come up with the word.

"Yeah, they put you under to do the procedure, it might take a little while for the anesthetic to wear off completely," replies John. "But they cauterized the bleed and you're gonna be just fine in a couple days." He sits back and scowls at Dean. "And then we're going to have a _serious_ talk."

Dean nods. "Yeah, okay."

John's face softens. "Get some rest, kiddo. We'll be here."

_We'll be here_. Dean lets himself drift away with a lopsided smile.


End file.
